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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606138">Feel the Colors in Between</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticDreamer/pseuds/GalacticDreamer'>GalacticDreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Altered Mental States, Dissociation, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Memory Loss, Minor Violence, Mystery, Poisoning, Suspense, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, also a pinch of medic leo because you can pry that hc out of my cold dead hands, i guess?, the other characters appear at the end, there's a little bit of that, this fic is just basically leo tripping the hell out</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:06:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25606138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticDreamer/pseuds/GalacticDreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A lost ninja turtle navigates through a world of spiraling colors and fractals, not realizing he is lost to begin with.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leonardo &amp; April O'Neil (TMNT), Leonardo &amp; his family (TMNT), Leonardo (TMNT) &amp; Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Feel the Colors in Between</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Shout out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParvumAutomaton/pseuds/ParvumAutomaton">ParvumAutomaton</a> for helping me brainstorm the title on discord.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He wakes up in a weird place. A very weird, dark place. Things spin and tilt with colors and lights dancing across his eyes. His head is both lighter than the lightest feather and heavier than, well, something really heavy. He is laying down somewhere. The space is cramped, the air cold. Cold like...like someone’s refrigerator. But whose refrigerator? And why a refrigerator? Why....</p>
<p>Why is he here?</p>
<p>He’s not in a refrigerator. He knows that. It’s cold like a refrigerator but not a refrigerator, because a refrigerator shouldn’t be like this. He’s in something else, something...unusual, but with no knowledge or memories of how or why. It all blurs in a haze of rainbow snow— no, static? Rainbow static snow? Sure, rainbow static snow. </p>
<p>Of course, there is one thing he does know: He shouldn’t be here. </p>
<p>He lets out a groan, suddenly remembering that he has limbs. That he has a physical body. Physical, like part of this world, actually existing, instead of being some disembodied blobby ghosty thing like how he currently feels like he is. The whiplash of the realization feels something on par with someone grabbing his ghost and slam dunking it back into a meaty flesh suit. It’s weird, it makes everything feel more present— <em> too </em> present, existing all at once and beyond what he can comprehend and it scares him to think about it further. So he doesn’t. </p>
<p>He manages to touch the freezing wall —more of a dome than a wall, actually— in front of him and push. There’s resistance, but even his sapped strength is enough to make the top pop open with a hiss, cold air turning into fog as it hits the warmer air, its strange snow flake like patterns growing and shrinking, inverting and twisting and spinning as it rolls out from the sides of the weird fridge-pod he is laying in. He follows suit, only to crash onto the floor in a heap. </p>
<p>Oh. That’s a surprise. What happened to his bones? They’re definitely not doing their job of helping him, like they’ve abandoned him and left him nothing but a sack of meat and skin. The thought of his skeleton running around makes him giggle, and it takes him a second to realize he isn’t stopping, as if the idea of a skeleton running around is supposed to be the funniest thing in the world. But it is! It really, really is! Even if the idea of walking talking skeletons and boneless flesh feels like something he’s already heard of before. Or maybe seen? Known?</p>
<p>Weird. </p>
<p>.....</p>
<p>Oh, his bones are back. </p>
<p>He slowly gets up, using the still open fridge-pod for support, watching the shadowy figures that have suddenly appeared out of nowhere flit and flicker, dancing strangely among the other angular shapes and smears, floating colored spatters, and lights within the room’s shifting walls. They speak in languages that sound like ringing in his ears. </p>
<p>He tries to speak, but his tongue is suddenly stone and garbles his words. It makes him want to laugh again, but he can’t, because the figures haven’t seemed to have heard him and he needs to ask things like where he can find something, because he suddenly knows he has to look for something. Maybe even more than one something too, even if he can’t remember what. So he tries speaking again, louder, waving his arms to make himself known. </p>
<p>The figures still ignore him, just standing there, spread out between even more of those weird fridge-pods, talking amongst themselves and doing their weird twisty dancey thing.</p>
<p>Rude. </p>
<p>He huffs before spinning around, humming thoughtfully at the walls because they aren’t the color and shape they were before. Nor were they moving as much before. </p>
<p>Is the world supposed to look like this? It’s all alive and filled with so much colors, looking almost like abstract art. Almost like some of the paintings made by his...</p>
<p>By his....</p>
<p>.....</p>
<p>No. No, the world isn’t supposed to look like this. It’s off. It’s off and wrong but…but, it’s beautiful. Everything seems to dance, popping with colors so bright and vibrant and lined with patterns and shapes he’s never seen before. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more alive, watching everything spin and dance. So that should mean things aren’t as wrong as he thought they were, if he is feeling this way. Not to mention he can’t remember the world ever being anything but this. </p>
<p>He takes a few steps forward. It’s hard to tell if he’s even walking to begin with. His body feels so light and airy he might as well be floating around. The world around him has become even more alive, teetering and spinning round and round like a see-sawing carousel, colors and lines blurring into loose kaleidoscopic patterns and spirals. </p>
<p>He’s laughing non-stop again. He can’t help it! It’s so easy to, when everything’s all silly and his chest is all jam-packed with laughter to the point of bursting. And it’s even easier now because it’s funny and fun seeing the world spin like he’s on a carnival ride. </p>
<p>It’s so much fun that he bends over and throws up a second later. </p>
<p>He groans, pulling a face and sticking his tongue out as if that might make the gross taste vanish from his taste buds. He leans against another table nearby in hopes of keeping himself from further floating and drifting and spinning, when his fingertips suddenly bump against something cold and stiff. He looks over, brow raised. It is an ankle. There’s someone laying on the table, a mess of colors unlike the shadowed figures lurking around him, topped off with swirls and feathers that flow down their body like a waterfall. But the most notable feature is the single, large flower blooming across what he is pretty sure to be a large bird’s stomach and chest. A pretty flower. A very pretty, rosey, rose red flower. </p>
<p>He raises the hand that touched them, whispering out an apology, since Rose Bird is asleep and all. Or at least, they look like they’re asleep. But upon shuffling over to where their head lays, he could just barely see their eyes are opened and staring upwards. </p>
<p>Huh. Why is he shaking?</p>
<p>A hand grabs him, whirling him around to face another new person. They’re a mess of colors too, like good old Rosie, but unlike Rose Bird, their form shifts and moves in a way that feels more animated and alive, entire swirls of smoke rolling up their head, uncoiling near the top before eventually dissipating. </p>
<p>Smokey’s saying something, but it’s all weird in his ears, like their speech is both slowed down and sped up at the same time until he focuses less and less on them wondering how he’s alive and more on just whatever is going on with the guy’s voice. It’s a hilarious voice. He tells them such, his words audibly slurring and now he’s laughing at that too because man, he guesses he also sounds funny. Isn’t that a weird coincidence, Smokey?</p>
<p>Wait, is he even talking right now?</p>
<p>There’s a visible slow rise in Smokey’s chest, as if they’re taking a deep breath. Do they even need to breathe though? Do weird smoke people even have lungs? He guesses they might, not to mention he— </p>
<p>He’s being pulled out of the room with the ease of a balloon and lead somewhere new, with new people of different smearing shapes and colors gathered to the sides, allowing them a clear path through the endless, twisting, corridor, whose very definition of a floor continues to switch from the ground to the walls to the ceiling and then back around again and again in a spiral. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it nor the people around them as he is ushered forward. </p>
<p>The crowd pays them no mind. Not the shadowed figures, nor the ones of colors and lines and squiggles. All of them continue to do....whatever it is they’re doing. If standing in one spot counted as doing something to begin with.</p>
<p>But it is the latter of the two types of people that catches his attention more. As he glances at them and just barely focuses on their empty, unblinking stares, a small whisper of thought cuts through the rainbow static snow clogging his brain, causing a flutter in his stomach, less like the bubbling laughter that constantly plagues him and more like the moment he realized he was going to be dropped from the roof of....</p>
<p>Of...... </p>
<p>.....</p>
<p>What was he talking about again? He’s shaking. Why is he shaking? </p>
<p>Someone lightly taps him on the shoulder. They’re a mess of colors, like all the other people here. But unlike the others, this one’s form shifts and moves in a way that feels more animated and alive, entire spirals of smoke rolling up their head, uncoiling near the top before eventually— oh hold on, he already knows this guy. He remembers now. they were both going somewhere, except… except they’re no longer moving anymore. They’ve stopped now. When had they stopped? How long has it been since they stopped? Had they ever been moving in the first place, or had they just stood still, like all the other people in this weird place, with only the space around them moving? Had he ever really been anywhere else?</p>
<p>A hand waves in front of his eyes, creating a colored smear that trails after it. A grip on his shoulder squeezes gently, grounding him, making him present, but not too present like how he vaguely remembers the first time being. It’s enough presence, good presence, one that makes the weird lurching feeling in his stomach die down a bit. </p>
<p>There are words coming out of Smokey’s, well, he’d say mouth but Smokey doesn’t really have a mouth. They’re funny sounding, pitched real high like a chipmunk’s but also pitched real low. He tells them such. There’s a weird wave of deja vu as Smokey’s eyes narrow. </p>
<p>Suddenly, they’re grabbing his head, tilting it up and prying his jaw open while also suddenly reminding him that he <em> has </em> a head and a jaw. A cool liquid floods his mouth and flows down his throat. </p>
<p>The reaction is instantaneous. A horrible taste floods his senses, revulsion surging throughout his body like a lightning bolt and smashing right through the haze as he sputters and struggles against the grip until they let go.</p>
<p>“Ugh, gross! I think I’m gonna throw up!” he coughs out, gagging at the lingering taste. “That’s even worse than...than…” He narrows his eyes, trying to remember what exactly he’s comparing it to. “Rotten...sewer garbage.” </p>
<p>He feels strangely disappointed with what he said. It feels like he could’ve come up with something so much better.</p>
<p>“Good, you’re back,” Smokey sighs with relief, their voice suddenly reminding him of the other presence in the room. </p>
<p>He narrows his eyes at the other, before pausing. Smokey looks different. They’re still smokey looking, sure, but the smoke is less swirly, less colorful. It’s only one color, actually: a dull, greenish hue. Though he guesses their yellow, pupilless eyes might count as another. Their black suit on the other hand definitely doesn’t.</p>
<p>Oh wait, was Smokey talking just now?</p>
<p>“What?” he asks, dumbly. </p>
<p>“Right, only partially back, then,” Smokey observes. “I asked what you know of your current situation.” </p>
<p>“My current…?” he mumbles, brows furrowed as he looks around what he now can see to be some kind of room with bookshelves among other things, and a large table in the middle covered in beakers and jars filled with colorful liquids (and weird, weren’t there more people here before?). The walls still ripple with faint kaleidoscopic shapes. </p>
<p>He doesn’t remember this place. How did he get here? He was...he had been in his home city. He knows that, even if he doesn’t know just what ‘home city’ is supposed to be. But he knows this isn’t home. This didn’t feel anything like home is supposed to feel. Home didn’t have only him. He isn’t supposed to be alone.</p>
<p>Wait...</p>
<p>A cold anxiety settles in his gut. He isn’t supposed to be alone, but he is. And if he’s here, then where— </p>
<p>“Where are they?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Where are who?” </p>
<p>“Them! My...” He squints, trying to push through the stupid, hazy, jumbled up mess in his head, but all he gets for his effort are some strange blobs of reds, oranges, and purples. “I don’t...I don’t know,” he admits, heart dropping at that realization. He clutches his head, his breathing picking up. “I-I don’t know!” </p>
<p>How could he not know? He needs them. They’re important. He knows they are because why else would it feel like a huge chunk of himself is about to be carved out? They’re so, so, important that he wouldn’t have anything left without them. He would be nothing! But they aren’t here. And he can’t remember who they are. So what’s going to become of him now?</p>
<p>“Hey, kid, just take a deep breath for me, alright?” Smokey suddenly speaks up, voice cutting through the panic. </p>
<p>Without knowing what else to do, he wordlessly obeys, inhaling deeply and slowly exhaling back out until he can feel his heartbeat go down.</p>
<p>“Are you good?” </p>
<p>“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am,” he breathes out. </p>
<p>“Look. As far as I know, you’re the only one brought in here so far. Wherever these people of yours are, they’re probably in a safer place than you are right now.” Smokey’s suddenly moving again, checking cabinets and rummaging through drawers. “Which is why we need to get you out of here before the boss comes back and finds you.” </p>
<p>He hums at that, blinking slowly as the room begins to sway, multitudes of color bleeding back in and rippling like slow moving water whose depths remain unknown. If he reaches his hand to touch it, will it go through? What will he find when it does? How far will it go?</p>
<p>He shakes his head to clear himself of that line of thought before he becomes too lost in it. “What’s he gonna do?” </p>
<p>“Kill you, once he realizes you’re not really dead yet,” Smokey says, voice suddenly coming from somewhere behind him instead of the cabinets they were inspecting before. Eyes wide, he turns around, finding the other quickly removing books from one of the bookshelves. They stare back at him for a moment in what could only be considered a mix of thoughtfulness and suspicion before focusing back on the task in front of them. “Though, it’s what he does after that’s worse,” they add in a voice so low that he wonders if it was meant to be heard by him at all.</p>
<p>He stares at the vibrant swirls of smoke as they roll up and up until they dissipate in the air, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with it. He is sure something is wrong with it. The feeling is like an itch that he can’t find.</p>
<p>A safe is revealed on the back of the book case.</p>
<p>“What does he do?” he asks after remembering to speak— that he <em> can </em> speak. The walls are no longer the colors or patterns they were before. </p>
<p>“Forget I said that. You don’t want to know,” Smokey replies, turning the combination knob in a weird, rushed way. Their voice is strange. Echoey. Pitching up and down. He wants to laugh. He can’t. He can’t because it isn’t funny. It’s not supposed to be funny. He knows that, even if he can’t remember why. It still comes out as a smaller chuckle. </p>
<p>“Well you can’t just say all that and then just not explain,” he says, in an attempt for the laughter rising up his throat to die down. He can’t stop smiling. “Kind of want to know what I’m getting into here.” </p>
<p>“There isn’t a point, because you’re not getting into anything. You’re going to be far away from here,” Smokey says, eyes considerably narrowed. “If you’re lucky, you’re going to be able to get the help you need, and maybe you’ll remember some things and find your people again. If you’re not, then, well…” They pause, and despite the lack of facial features, he swears he can sense a grimace. “At least he still won’t be able to do anything to you. Either way, it’s one less yokai staring at me from beyond the grave.” </p>
<p>A click. The safe opens. </p>
<p>“Besides, even if I do tell you, you likely won’t remember,” they finish, sounding strangely disappointed. They reach their hand into the safe and take out a small orb. It’s familiar. It’s another certainty. He’s seen it before. It was...It was a...</p>
<p>“Wait, what do you mean?” he asks once Smokey’s words process in his head. </p>
<p>“You’re regressing. I figured that was the case the moment you zoned out for half a minute and didn’t even realize,” Smokey says, somehow walking up to him in a few steps even when the bookshelf is miles away. “But it’s really obvious now. That strange swirl is returning in your eyes. How does my voice sound so far?” </p>
<p>Distorted. Weird. Has been sounding like that for a short while now, but he doesn’t want to say that out loud anymore. Regressing? What did that even mean? It sounded like one of those words that....that someone he should know would use. But it was bad, wasn’t it? He can’t have bad things happening now. He can’t. Not when he just found out he needed to find someone. Multiple someones. Very important someones. He can’t...He can’t lose that again.</p>
<p>“But what about—”</p>
<p>“The potion I gave you?” Smokey sighs regretfully, fiddling with the orb in his hands. “You have to understand. What’s happening to you...it’s not something that <em> ever </em> happens with the boss’s poison, so I had to do a bit of guesswork in the limited time I had. But clearly, the potion’s magic wasn’t strong enough to get rid of it, and whatever <em> did </em> happen seems to have only paused its effects very temporarily.” And then, in a softer voice, he adds. “For what it’s worth, I <em> am </em>sorry. I hoped it would give you a chance considering...well, considering you were still alive when I found you.” </p>
<p>The world is spinning, neon smears of colors dancing across his vision. He feels light. So, so light. What happened to his legs? Hadn’t he been standing on them just a moment ago? What happened to his body? Did he even have one anymore?</p>
<p>“No,” he says out loud, shaking his head. It’s the last thing he knows is there because he needs to keep it. He needs to keep it or he’s going to lose it and then everything else. “No, I can’t...I need to...I need to find…”</p>
<p>Find...what? Something? But what? </p>
<p>“This should take you back to where he found you. Hopefully, you will find what you’re looking for before you forget,” Smokey continues, dropping the orb on the ground. It glows and spreads until there’s a pink spot in the air, outlined with weaving spirals. It is like a sun. A pink sun. It’s beautifully bright, so much so that it’s burning a hole in his vision but he can’t think to turn away, even as something taps against him. What is it doing here? Why isn’t it in space with all the other stars and suns? Was it lost?</p>
<p>There’s someone turning his head, making him face them. Their form shifts and moves in a way that feels more animated and alive, entire spirals of different colored smoke rolling up their head— </p>
<p>It’s Smokey. They look...sad, but it’s still Smokey, and they’ve been helping him...helping him with what? </p>
<p>Oh, they’re speaking, talking in a way that he can still barely make out their words. Focus, they keep saying. But focus on what? There are so many things happening at once, like the breathing walls, or the floor and the way it wriggles and squirms like colorful worms outlined with rainbow tv static. </p>
<p>Fingers are snapping in front of his face, noise popping like sparklers and movement creating a smear of color trails. He follows where the fingers are connected to. Smokey is giving him a weird look. </p>
<p>Focus on their words, they’re trying to tell him. Their voice sounds funny. He goes to tell them such but they immediately stop him by giving him a flat look. Focus on their words, on what he needs to do, they tell him again, slower, louder. Can he understand them? they ask next, and he nods sometime later, once the question finally processes. He tries not to say anything about their voice. </p>
<p>There’s a noise in the distance. Smokey whirls around, muttering something he can’t make out, before quickly turning back to him, hands on his shoulders. </p>
<p>Run, they’re telling him. Run and hide. </p>
<p>Without another word, he’s thrown right into the pink sun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he opens his eyes, he is in a strange place. A very strange, dark place. Familiar, but not too familiar. </p>
<p>He is lying up, facing the sky in its entirety. It is a black sea, shifting and rippling and shimmering like an oil spill. Around him, twisting buildings reach up and up until they disappear far under its waves. Or is it over the waves? It’s the sky after all, and the sky is an upside down sea.</p>
<p>It’s so wide too, he realizes. It stretches further and further beyond what he could possibly ever hope to understand, and is getting bigger and wider by the second, like a large mouth opening and inching closer, ready to swallow him into the vastness of it all. Would he be able to breathe within that sea of black? </p>
<p>There is a rumble. He looks up and up until the sky becomes the ground and the ground becomes the sky, watching wheels of a vehicle spin around and around as they pass by, spraying up water from a puddle, droplets falling (or rising?) in almost slow motion, shifting and glinting like prismatic stars. A laughter fills the air. It’s him. He’s laughing in awe. Is this where all the stars have gone? Escaped from the upside down sea they floated in and left it nothing but an empty, black, void?</p>
<p>Wait. No, no. Something isn’t right. He’s supposed to be doing something else. He’s supposed to be...to be focused on something. But what? </p>
<p>He gets up, squinting, as if squinting hard enough would allow him to see past the rainbow static snow in his head. Just barely, he recalls a blurred smear with two glowing circles for eyes. They’re saying something but he can barely grasp the words— </p>
<p>That’s it! Words. He’s supposed to be focused on the words. Run and hide. That was it, wasn’t it? Run and hide. But why? Was it a game? Like hide and seek? A smile spreads across his face as he processes those last three words. He knows that game! He’s pretty sure he likes it too. He must have. He definitely has, because he is good at it! A champion at it!</p>
<p>So he makes his way into the maze, because this has to be some maze, with its twisting and swirling paths and impossibly high walls made of churning bricks and stones and shapes that almost resemble lazily moving eyes. They all sway with the current of the sky. </p>
<p>Oh, right. Focus. Focus on what he needs to do. Focus on hiding. Even if the world is dancing and colorful, he needs to focus or he’d lose the game. He doesn’t want to lose the game. He doesn’t like the idea of losing at all. A champion doesn’t lose.</p>
<p>A pink light glows from the edges of his vision. He turns to it, staring in wonder at the small, swirling pink spot hovering in the air that continues to spiral bigger and bigger. There’s a strong pull to continue staring, to see just how big it will get. But he shouldn’t. He has to focus. He has to run and hide. </p>
<p>In the end, he compromises by ducking around a corner, watching the growing pink with curiosity, and it is only then that, even when the weaving patterns along the edges are different, he distantly recognizes the glow to be that same pink sun. Well, maybe not a sun. He is vaguely aware of being thrown right into it before.</p>
<p>Someone is coming through: large, no legs, just arms, and one long body from head to tail dressed in dark purple fractals. Their skin is made of different diamond shapes colored a blinding white, with bands of rainbow spreading along their form like ripples of a pond. </p>
<p>This is the person who’s ‘It’, he guesses, which means no more looking. Focus on what he needs to do. He needs to hide. Run and hide. Can’t lose the game. </p>
<p>He turns around and flees— no, not just fleeing, <em> flying </em>, twisting and turning down different paths with a shot of euphoria coursing through his entire being as his body becomes lighter and lighter. He moves faster, not paying any mind to the rain whose drops now flow down his face as a wide grin spreads across his face.</p>
<p>Focus. Focus. Don’t forget to hide. </p>
<p>He skids to a stop, turning a sharp corner and slides into a shadowed space behind a neon green dumpster, putting his hands up to his mouth once he remembers he has hands to begin with, muffling the sound of his laughter. Warm rainwater flows along his hands, seeping between his fingers, and it is only when the bubbling laughter dies down that he lowers them, resting his head back against the shifting, pulsing walls as he looks through an opening above and sees the sky. </p>
<p>It is the same as always: an inky black, iridescent shimmering, creating tighter and tighter patterns the longer he stares. But it is dry. Not a single drop falls from that floating, endless, black ocean. But that can’t be right, because he can clearly feel something that’s unmistakably liquid, continuously flowing down past his nose. His hand goes to touch it. It comes away a bright, vibrant, rose red. </p>
<p>How does a black sea make red rain?</p>
<p>Something draws his attention, but it isn’t the voice suddenly speaking more so what is being spoken, a series of noises that create one, short, familiar word. He perks up in attention, turning to the source. </p>
<p>Something fills the space where he just came through: a smear of bright yellows and greens like the colors of lemons and limes, and that is all he manages to make note of before Lemon-Lime is suddenly moving, turning their colors into an even wispier gradient as they rush through the space and towards him. </p>
<p>He flinches back, more startled by the sudden movement than anything, having never expected the blob of colors to move in the first place. Lemon-Lime freezes in turn, their gradient trail finally catching up to them, causing their shape to be defined enough that he could see a touch of brown floating on top of the yellows and greens and carrying two shapes that look like the vague outlines of wings, though he is sure those wings function more like eyes than anything that could help them fly. </p>
<p>Lemon-Lime is small, a fragmented thought of his says. Familiar, another, tinier fragment adds, though in a louder voice. What are you? he hears his voice ask her, his tongue heavy like cement with a lingering taste of metal. </p>
<p>Lemon-Lime somehow stills even more, and he knows this because even the tinier trails have all but disappeared. But they’re suddenly moving again, with what could be counted as arms trailing around the rest of their form before pulling something out and placing it into his own hands. It’s soft and light, tan and lumpy like a swirling dust cloud. </p>
<p>As the red rain continues to fall onto his wrists, he stares at it curiously until Lemon-Lime snatches it away. His attention snaps back to them, ready to protest because that’s supposed to be his now because they just gave it to him, when they press it hard against his nose, guiding his hand to keep it there. </p>
<p>He’s confused on why. He can’t breathe as easily if he does this. But the minute he tries to take it away, Lemon-Lime is pressing it back against his face while another hand is suddenly going to his forehead. It’s cold in a comforting way, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. </p>
<p>They’re saying something, but the more they do, the more their voice sounds strange. Their noise is cut off by his own giggling. He should say sorry, but instead, he tells them they have a funny voice, high pitched and deep fried. But it isn’t like he should be talking. His own voice is funny too, funnier actually, now that his plugged up nose makes things sound even weirder. He’d tell them this, but he can’t tell if he already has, or if he’s just continuing to laugh. It bubbles in him stronger than a pot of boiling water but without the heat, leaving nothing but that tickly pressure. </p>
<p>Suddenly, Lemon-Lime shoots forward, a hand pressing against the side of his head, keeping it tilted as a light floods the darkness of their hiding place. He flinches as the sudden brightness stabs into his eyes. When he opens them again, he can still see the colored sparks and dots that drifted around behind his eyelids, but more importantly, Lemon-Lime is still there, unmoving. They’re holding something that could probably be rectangular. It’s emitting that light, but not into his vision. Lower. His neck. And then Lemon-Lime lets go, allowing him to tilt his head back into place. </p>
<p>They’re saying something— <em> asking </em> something again. He can tell because their tone rises at the end. That always means a question is being asked. But what is being asked about? Was it about him? But why would anyone ask about him? There wouldn’t be much he could answer to that. He is he. That is all there is. That is all he knows, just like how he knows he should know more than that, but chooses not to think about it, because knowing that he should know more gives that uncomfortable, cold, heavy feeling one would get when staring out into vast, distant nothingness on the very edge of a skyscraper’s roof.</p>
<p>He doesn’t like that feeling. It’s not fun. The very, complete opposite of fun. He doesn’t want to think of it anymore. </p>
<p>He blinks. Lemon-Lime’s voice is no longer directed at him. Funnily enough, they're speaking to the wall. Haha. Silly Lemon-Lime. Even <em> he </em>knows the walls can’t speak. Even if they sometimes change their colors or look alive and breathing and maybe even seeing, it doesn’t mean they could have mouths to talk or ears to hear. He tries to tell them such, but the only answer he gets is a pause, before they’re back to talking to the wall. They sound more frantic for some reason.</p>
<p>He guesses they could suit themselves. Maybe he’s the one that’s wrong, even though it doesn’t feel like that at all. But speaking of which, where even were they? The walls aren’t where he remembers them being. Except he doesn’t remember where they were supposed to be to start with. Were they always this close? Always this cramped? Why...</p>
<p>Why was he here again? He was...He was here for something important. He can feel that. He furrows his brow, frowning in frustration as the rainbow static snow already fills up the holes left in the dwindling remains of his memory. Would Lemon-Lime know? They’re here with him. He pokes them, saying their name repeatedly until they gently bat his hand away, meaning he has their attention. As Lemon-Lime moves, a glowing rectangle shows itself, having previously been obscured behind their smudge of color. Were they talking into that instead of the walls like he thought they were? Was it a...what was the word? A phone? It didn’t look like any phone he remembers seeing.</p>
<p>What did he want to ask about again? Right, where they are, and why they’re here. He asks Lemon-Lime this, but instead of answering, they’re asking a question back. That can’t be right though, because he’s looking for an answer, not a question, and answers don’t ever come in the form of questions. </p>
<p>Fingers snap in front of his face. A wave of deja vu hits him. He’s been through this before. Lemon-Lime is saying that word again, the short one that causes his full attention to snap to them. But there’s another word being said as well, familiar but not too familiar, but one he vaguely remembers being said to him all the same. </p>
<p>Focus, Lemon-Lime seems to be saying. Focus. That was the word. The one that he heard before by someone that wasn’t Lemon-Lime. He needs to focus on something. But what did they say to focus on? And when did someone say that? And where? </p>
<p>Well, he is here now, he knows that. But maybe being here now does not mean he has always been here, because where there is a now, there is a before, and where there is a before there is a place he was in in this state of before, right? Right. </p>
<p>So where was this ‘before’? Did he have a head before? Did he know what hands were before? They didn’t exist then like they do now, did they? </p>
<p>No. No, they didn’t. But this wasn’t far enough. He needs to go back more, to before, a before where there was— </p>
<p>Green. There was green. Green like...like Lemon-Lime’s green, but not. A different green. A green that said words to him. Words like...focusing on words. Other words. But what other words? Focus on what he’s doing? No that can’t be it, because he’s focusing on focusing right now, and what does it accomplish to focus on focusing while focusing on focusing? It doesn’t make sense. It makes him even more confused thinking about it. </p>
<p>So no. Probably not that. Something else then. Run? Not that either. That was something that has already been done because where he is is a ‘now’, and running was a ‘before’. But he’s close, warmer. Run, and something else. Run and...and...</p>
<p>Hide. That was it. Hide, like hide and seek. He is good at hide and seek and he needs to hide— <em> is </em> hiding so he can win the game. He wants to win the game. He has to win the game. Unless he has already lost? If he was playing a game and hiding from someone who is ‘It’, and if Lemon-Lime was the one who had found him, did that mean Lemon-Lime was ‘It’? </p>
<p>No, that makes no sense. They’re too small. The one who’s ‘It’ is bigger, he remembers that too. And if Lemon-Lime was ‘It’, then they wouldn’t be hiding with them. The game would be over because he was found, but the game isn’t over because he is still hiding, and now Lemon-Lime is here, hiding with him. Lemon-Lime, who is once again no longer facing him (weren’t they asking him a question? He feels like they were), Lemon-Lime, who is speaking more frantically into the strange phone, arms a smeary pretzel knot of animated gestures.</p>
<p>Except Lemon-Lime is too loud. That can’t be right either, because one needs to be silent in order to stay hidden. Anyone who’s good at the game would know. But Lemon-Lime isn’t silent, so that would mean...</p>
<p>They’re not very good at hide and seek. </p>
<p>Lemon-Lime stops talking, turning to look at him again. His voice had spoken those words out loud, he then realizes. But that was fine, because it was true, and Lemon-Lime needs to learn how to play or they would never win any games. And if Lemon-Lime doesn’t learn right now while hiding in the same spot he is, then he will lose with them. He doesn’t want to lose with them. It wouldn’t be fair.</p>
<p>He stares at them, waiting for a response, but Lemon-Lime isn’t saying another word. That’s good, because that must mean Lemon-Lime is starting to understand. Less talking means less noise, and less noise means less chances of being found. He’s glad, and even more glad that when Lemon-Lime does decide to speak, it’s in a quieter voice. It’s another question. He squints, cocking his head, hoping that would help him make sense of the words they are saying. Lemon-Lime seems to sense his attempts, because they speak again. Slower. Which is even better, because now he’s focusing really hard, so he should be able to understand.</p>
<p>They’re asking what he is talking about. But what kind of question is that? They’re playing hide and seek, wasn’t that obvious? And Lemon-Lime was being too loud, which could get them found by the person who’s ‘It’, which was the pure opposite of the point of hide and seek. </p>
<p>He tells them such. He tries to explain it all to them to the point that he is running out of breath. But they’re still not getting it. He knows they’re not getting it. But how could Lemon-Lime not, when they were hiding with him in the first place? Instead, they’re asking something else that should be known: </p>
<p>Who is ‘It’? </p>
<p>The world becomes brighter, free of its shadows. The wall in front of them is no longer where it used to be. In its place stands a large, snake-like figure towering over them, blindingly white save for the drifting, purplish, prisms that make up their clothes. Hundreds upon thousands of diamond prisms are embedded into their skin, shifting and melding together before reforming their individual shapes in a never ending cycle as waves of rainbow pulse across their entire body. </p>
<p>They’re familiar. He knows them. They’re ‘It’, he’s certain of it, just as much as he’s certain that the feeling inside of him is disappointment as he tells Lemon-Lime they just lost the game. </p>
<p>But then the Serpent smiles wide, and suddenly, there’s a cold feeling inside of him, slowly spreading throughout his body. He cannot breathe. A quick drum beat fills his ears in a rhythmic <em> ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum </em> in sync with the thudding in his chest and a dull throbbing on one part of his neck. </p>
<p>A certainty makes itself known through the haze, the clearest one he’s known yet. </p>
<p>He doesn’t like them.</p>
<p>He. Doesn’t. Like. Them. </p>
<p>A narrow and streaking blur hits the Serpent in the head. A grip tightens on his wrist, dragging him up until he is closely following the trails of yellows and greens that Lemon-Lime leaves as they run through the twisting paths, still yelling into that wavy glowing rectangle of a phone. Something rams into him from behind, and he’s being rammed into Lemon-Lime from behind. The world shifts and spins violently, blurring into a whirlwind of colors as they both tumble onto the ground. </p>
<p>He can’t get up. He needs to get up. Everything within him is screaming to get up, but he can’t. There’s something holding him down, something breathing warm air against his neck, something sharp ghosting his skin. </p>
<p>A distorted cry, flashes of bright yellow-green and a series of thunks. The weight comes off him. He scrambles away, backing up until his back— no, <em> shell </em>, hits a hard surface, watching as the Serpent yells and growls, no longer just white and purple but also carrying a large spot of yellow and green wrapped right above the Serpent's arms. </p>
<p>Lemon-Lime’s own arms swing up and down, ramming something against the Serpent's head as the latter twists and thrashes in a weird, primal, dance, until the whole space is filled with their colors, like a smudgy, white canvas covered in spatters of purple and streaks of Lemon-Lime. That is, until Lemon-Lime is ripped off the canvas and thrown to the ground, followed by a metallic clatter. </p>
<p>Something that a distant part of him acknowledges to be long and narrow rolls up to him, but he cannot be too sure until it stops and all the shifting colors and lines slowly settle. A hand reaches out, brushing against its fuzzy surface. But it isn’t fuzzy, because what he feels is something cold and smooth. </p>
<p>A shrill noise fills the air, startling him as he looks back at the scene in front of him. It’s coming from Lemon-Lime, who desperately holds the Serpent's jaw away as it looms over them. They’re no longer just saying that one, familiar, word they keep directing at him, but screaming it. His entire body suddenly goes cold again, like it’s being turned to ice.</p>
<p>Sharp crystal teeth drift closer to Lemon-Lime, rippling with agate rings. Staring at it causes that throbbing spot on his neck to burn. Something thuds faster against his chest. It’s difficult to breathe. Lemon-Lime is screaming something else, same word but different, longer, heavier, more powerful, like something striking him right through his very soul and <em> pulling </em>— </p>
<p>He blinks. The Serpent lays underneath him, limp, as Lemon-Lime scrambles out from beneath. A metal pipe falls onto the shifting ground with a loud clang that seems to echo along the walls around them.</p>
<p>It’s hard to breathe. He’s trying so hard, but it’s hard to breathe. That thudding against the inside of his chest is still there, stronger, even faster, as if something wants to get out. The world is shaking. <em> He’s </em> shaking. Why is he shaking? </p>
<p>Something grabs his wrist. Lemon-Lime is tugging him along, saying something. They sound urgent. He knows it’s urgent. A rustle behind them causes both of them to freeze. Lemon-Lime lets out a noise that he is distantly aware sounds indignant. He turns. The Serpent is still there, towering over both of them again, moving towards them again, until a large shadow drops from above, followed by a bright, vivid flash of red and the Serpent isn’t here anymore. The red shadow tears away from wherever they are, followed by a flash of orange. He wonders how they’re able to move so quickly with the world tilting and swaying as it is. He wonders how they can see where they are going when shapes and hard lines are no longer shapes and hard lines, but more just melting blobs of swirling colors.</p>
<p>There’s a fast thudding against the inside of his chest. It’s the only reason he still remembers he <em> has </em> a chest. It’s hard to breathe. </p>
<p>Cool hands grasp onto him. A lighter shade of purple fills his vision. A voice cuts through the roaring static that fills his ears. It’s saying that word again. The one that....that person— Lemon-Lime, kept saying to him. He knows that word. He knows that voice. He tries to ask Purple why, but his tongue isn’t working. It’s no longer there. All that comes out is gibberish as something bubbles up his throat. </p>
<p>And then, right as Purple shifts, hands that he suddenly remembers existing fly up to his mouth as a cough rips through him, and then another, and then another. And when it stops, his hands are warm and wet and dripping. They come away from his mouth, showing rose red swirling among the green. </p>
<p>Something grips him tighter, trembling. There’s a noise. A high pitched noise coming from in front of him, and he looks up, finding not only purple, but now orange and red. A different red. Brighter, like candy. It’s a much better color than rose red, he thinks, because candy red mixed with orange and purple brings the warmth of relief and feels like coming home, even if he cannot remember why. It’s the last thing he thinks before he is falling. Shouts ring in the air, colors swirling into an endless whirlpool and mixing until it all becomes one shade of the darkest black. </p>
<p>And then nothing.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leonardo wakes up in a familiar place. A very comforting, familiar place, but also a place with lights too bright, stabbing painfully in his eyes. He lets out a drawn out, pained groan, weakly dragging his arm to block his vision. </p>
<p>“Leo?” Donatello’s disembodied voice gasps, audibly shocked and hopeful for whatever reason. There’s a rustle, followed by a few bangs and yelps that would’ve been hilarious if his head wasn’t threatening to split open at any moment. “You’re awake!” </p>
<p>“Forget being awake Dee, get the lights to shut up!” Leo whines, about to move his other arm to double shield his face when Donnie grabs it. </p>
<p>“I’m turning off the lights, but don’t move that arm. You have an IV there,” Donnie says, followed by an audible click.</p>
<p>Leo lowers his arm, blinking his eyes open to confirm yes, the lights are now off, before the rest of Donnie’s words process in his head. “Wait, an IV?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Well, yeah, I mean, it’s not like you’ve been out for three days or anything,” Donnie replies dryly.</p>
<p>“Oh.” For some reason, that revelation didn’t feel as surprising as it probably should. Leo blearily looks at the familiar walls of his room, and then to the mentioned IV, eyes trailing the tube from the pouch down to the back of his hand. “Huh.” </p>
<p>“You’re actually taking that a lot better than I thought you would.”</p>
<p>“I guess. Everything feels all weird right now, so this might as well be a thing,” Leo replies nonchalantly. There’s a chance he would be able to process that bit of info later, but right now, there aren’t many strong, particular feelings.</p>
<p>“How do you feel?”</p>
<p>Leo pauses, thinking. “Exhausted. And like a truck got thrown at my head, now that I think about it,” he decides. “But I’m gonna take a limb and guess you want me to be more specific so give me a sec. To start with, no broken bones,” he takes a moment to take a few deep breaths, “breathing feels fine,” he places two fingers on his wrist, counting the seconds, “pulse is alright. No obvious pain in my squishy insides. Pretty sure I don’t have a concussion either. Can’t say much about temperature.” </p>
<p>“Oh, your temperature’s fine,” Donnie supplies. </p>
<p>“Alright, cool, so I’m almost a-okay,” Leo says, giving a small nod, until he feels...something. A strange sort of resistance at the base of his neck. He frowns, feeling around the area and touching what he quickly recognizes to be gauze and medical tape. “Or maybe not. So what happened here?” </p>
<p>The question results in a grimace from Donnie. “As far as we know, you got bit by some weird snake yokai.”</p>
<p>“I got what?!” Leo sits up, alarmed and slightly indignant, only allowing himself a moment to regret that decision when his body screams in protest. He pays it no mind, hand once again going to the bandaged area. “Ugh! What the heck?! No wonder my neck was killing me! That’s so not cool!” </p>
<p>“Well, at least now I know you really <em> are </em>fine, if you’re already acting like that,” Donnie mumbles instead, more to himself than to Leo as he rechecks to see if the IV was disturbed in any way from the sudden movement. It wasn’t.</p>
<p>“Alright lay it out to me Donald, did the guy at least come out of the fight looking twice as bad as me?”</p>
<p>Donnie snorts, but it doesn’t carry the same humor or exasperation that it usually would. “I don’t know.” The answer is short, clipped, followed by a quiet and bitter: “We weren’t there the first time.”</p>
<p>Leo frowns, suddenly realizing something is off— has <em> been </em> off the moment he woke up. He should’ve noticed sooner. Donatello had been acting the way he usually does when he doesn’t want the others to know he’s bothered by something. But throughout the entire conversation, he had never looked Leo in the eyes, always keeping his attention elsewhere. And even while sitting next to Leo’s bed, his leg has been constantly bouncing, agitated. </p>
<p>Not to mention what was happening now. If he didn’t know any better, he would think Donnie was angry at him. But he does know better, and he knows Donnie isn’t. His brother is angry at something else. </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” he asks. “What happened?”</p>
<p>“You really don’t remember?” Donnie asks in return, raising a brow.</p>
<p>Leo scoffs. “Wouldn’t be asking if I did, now would I?” </p>
<p>“Fair enough.” Donnie takes a breath. “You were missing for an entire day,” he answers. “We don’t exactly know what happened, or how or when, but at some point, you were just gone. None of us knew anything, and believe me, we <em> tried </em>, but there was just no sign of you until April called hours later, and we found you two facing off that snake, and…” he trails off, mouth pressed into a thin line as his hands clench into tight fists.</p>
<p>“And?” Leo prompts.</p>
<p>“There was a strong dose of venom in your system. It wasn’t anything I’ve seen before, probably something mystic and specific to yokai, but it was undeniably a venom that was slowly killing you.” </p>
<p>“...Oh,” is all Leo could think to say to that, pushing down that cold feeling Donnie’s words brought as he forces an easygoing smile on his face. “Okay, but you cured me, right?” </p>
<p>“The three of us managed to track the guy down after he escaped back to the Hidden City, managed to get some of his venom, and managed to make a cure out of it. So yeah. No more venom.” </p>
<p>“So it’s all good!” </p>
<p>A long pause. “Yeah,” Donnie mutters. “Sure. It’s all fine and dandy in the end.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t fine and dandy. Not in that big, loud brain of Donnie’s. Leo would know. It shows in the way Donnie still won’t look at him, fists clenched tighter to the point his knuckles turn white. </p>
<p>That settles it then, Leo decides, as he swings his legs to the side of the bed, the movement being more than enough to cause Donnie to snap his gaze back to him.</p>
<p>“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be moving around yet, you know that!” </p>
<p>“Well, I’m making an exception because Dr. Leon here needs to give his brother a new perspiration,” Leo declares, setting his hands on Donnie’s shoulders, face twisted in mock seriousness.</p>
<p>“Perspir…” Donnie gives Leo a flat look. “Prescription, Leon, it’s prescription. And what are you even talking—” </p>
<p>Leo pulls him into a hug. For a second, Donnie stiffens in his arms, before slowly hugging him back, squeezing tighter, as if any looser was going to cause Leo to disappear from his grasp. </p>
<p>“We were lucky,” Donnie admits after a moment, voice so low that Leo’s sure he wouldn’t have heard if Donnie wasn’t speaking so close to his ear. “It was close. Too close. Any longer, maybe even just a split second, and you could’ve...” He pauses. “We didn’t even know if you would ever wake up.” </p>
<p>“But I did, and you got to me in time. You did good, bro.” </p>
<p>Donnie breaks away, giving Leo a heated look. “That’s not the point. I don’t think you even understand the weight of what could’ve happened.” He barks out a laugh. It’s harsh and fearful and so foreign coming from him. “I mean, you could have been gone the moment he <em> bit </em> you! It was a miracle that the venom took as long as it did to take effect. If it didn’t, then we wouldn’t have known what happened to you until, I don’t know, we explore some random part of the Hidden City and just <em> happen </em>to stumble upon that yokai’s place long after he turned you into some—” He doesn’t say anything more, clamping his mouth shut the moment he realizes he was speaking too much. A haunted look flashes across his eyes.</p>
<p>“Wait, some what? What was this creep going to do with me?” Leo asks, despite dreading the answer.</p>
<p>Donnie lets out a breath, the look fading from his eyes and turning into its usual exhaustion as he pinches the space between his eyes. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Forget I said that.” </p>
<p>“Come on, you can’t just say all that and not tell me. I have to know eventually!” </p>
<p>“Sure, but not now, Leo.” Donnie glares at him, but there is something almost pleading underneath it. “I don’t— I really, really, don’t want to let my brain think about that right now.”</p>
<p>Leo opens his mouth, protest already forming in his head. He has a right to know. After all, he was the one who almost went through…whatever it was he was going to go through. It wasn’t fair to keep being left in the dark like this.</p>
<p>But before he can, someone rushes through the door, his familiar, large frame blocking the dim light that had been coming in. Raphael immediately zeroes in on Donnie. </p>
<p>“I knew it!” he exclaims, frowning disapprovingly. “Donnie! It’s seven in the morning! You were supposed to switch with me about an hour—” It is then that his gaze drifts towards Leo before he does a double take, staring at him with wide eyes that soon develop a sheen as the seconds tick by. “Leo?” he says, almost in a choked whisper.</p>
<p>Leo snorts. “Took you long enough, big guy,” he jokes. </p>
<p>“Leo!” Raph exclaims, louder, wide grin spreading across his face. “You’re...You’re awake! You’re—” he turns, running and shouting out to the rest of the lair. “Mikey! Pops! Leo’s awake!” </p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for the others to rush in, with Michelangelo immediately latching onto Leo as he suddenly finds himself on the other end of a barrage of questions.</p>
<p>“Leo! You’re okay! You’re gonna be okay, right?” Raph asks apprehensively.</p>
<p>“Blue! Do you still feel sick? Is there anything amiss? And what are you doing up?! You should still be resting!” Splinter says.</p>
<p>“Your eyes aren’t swirly anymore!” Mikey exclaims, once he finally lets go and steps back. “Do you know who we are? Do you know who this is?” He shoves his phone at Leo’s face, screen displaying a picture of April. </p>
<p>“Alright, give a guy a bit of space, people, everything’s all good,” Leo replies before looking at Mikey questioningly. “And also yeah? Why wouldn’t I know who you guys are? You’re all my brothers, dad’s our dad, and April’s just unforgettable in every way. Kind of impossible to forget you all.” He doesn’t even know where to begin with the ‘swirly eyes’ thing Mikey mentioned, so he shelves that for later.</p>
<p>The three all stare at him, slightly more relieved than before.</p>
<p>“So you are alright?” Splinter asks, stepping forward.</p>
<p>“I mean, yeah, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” Leo replies with a shrug. “Just about as fine as a turtle can be after a three day sleep and a...near poisoning, I guess.”</p>
<p>And with that answer alone, it’s almost as if his dad deflates, and Leonardo suddenly finds himself in a tight hug.</p>
<p>“Thank goodness,” Splinter breathes out, a small, unexpected, tremor in his voice. “Oh, thank goodness.” </p>
<p>And Michelangelo, never one to miss out on the opportunity for a group hug, immediately joins in. Then two pairs of arms becomes three, followed by a yelp from Donnie, and then there are four. They squeeze almost as tightly as Donnie had previously, in the same way that screams their fear of losing Leo if they don’t hold on tight enough. He had been suspecting something with Donnie in the beginning, but had whatever happened really been that bad?</p>
<p>“So, not that I’m complaining about this hug pile we’re having right now ‘cause I’m <em> totally </em>into it, but can any of you fill me in on what exactly happened?” Leo speaks up from the middle of it all. “Because I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling like the number one most confused mutant ninja teenage turtle in the world.” </p>
<p>“Shh, not right now. Just enjoy the moment, please?” Mikey says. </p>
<p>Leo takes a moment to mull over this before sighing, letting himself smile and relax in the familiar comfort of his family’s arms. “Can’t argue with that.”</p>
<p>He really can’t, he decides, not only because of the protectiveness of the hug pile, but also because of the look he saw in all of their eyes despite their clear attempts to hide it— the one that says they’ve seen or experienced something that they’d rather forget. He’ll find out what happened one way or another, but for now, he will let them keep their silence. If only for them to continue holding onto what little peace they could find.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote most of this while sleep-deprived because it's the only time I'm ever loopy enough to write this kind of stuff. Hope you enjoyed it! </p>
<p>P.S. If you wanna talk to me some more, you can go to my fanfic tumblr blog <a href="https://galactic-archives.tumblr.com/">here</a>. Don't expect much content from it yet, since it's only a sideblog I'm still setting up.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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